Il mio paradisio non puo esistere In deine Holle
by Deezaster82
Summary: The nation of North Italy is dissolved by his own peoples and Romano takes over the whole country. Veneziano die but cannot find happiness in his almost perfect paradise as long as he knows that his best friend in still suffering. More infos inside.
1. Congratulation, Italy!

Autor note and disclaimer: Axis Power Hetalia and its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz and whoever else owns it.

Summary: Italy dies but he cannot find peace in his paradise as long as he knows that Germany suffers.

Genre: Angst/Sci-fi/Romance. WW2-AU ( which means: Not historically accurate to a few exceptions. )

Warning: Characters death, sensitive WW2-related stuffs and Yaoi ( nothing hardcore though, if you can handle innuendos)

Pairings: Eventual Ger/Ita, America/Romano if you squint very hard, some other pairings. I'm still a Spain/Romano fan!

What will not happen: Germany/Prussia. Fluff that could happen between them is only brotherly love.

**Il mio paradisio non puo esistere. ( In deine Hölle)**

My paradise cannot exist ( In your hell)

The world around him was confusing and incredibly messy.

He was running across the field and all was shattering around him. The ground, the trees, even the sky seemed like they were falling down, breaking into pieces, projecting shards flying through the tick air, sharp like glass, and cutting through his clothes and skin.

the air was suffocating, it smelled foul and was leaving an horrible copper-like taste of blood on the tip of his tongue. He was panting heavily, his mouth was dry, his throat was sore and his lungs were burning, but he couldn't stop. He had to go on, and keep running forward, always forward.

The noise was deafening, a painful cacophony of screams, explosions, shouts, plane engines, bullets whistling next to his ears, shattering grounds, moans of agony, the mix of it all sounded inhuman even though it was the symphony of what humans could do best: War.

He didn't stop to analyze the situation, not once! A single moment of hesitation could very well be his last. His hand that held the gun didn't tremble. He gritted his teeth, aimed but couldn't help closing his eyes every time he had to shot.

He had never wanted to fight in the first place, he had joined that war in hope to bring in peace.

He had believed it could be possible.

But his white flag has been snatched off his hand and replaced by a gun, he didn't want it, but no Nation- not even the most powerful ones- could ever disobey their boss.

And he has never been powerful.

And his boss wanted him to fight.

He swallowed his sobs and kept running, his soldiers falling behind and in front of him, he couldn't stop to grieve, he'd cry for them later.

On his blue uniform, no longer pristine, crimson blossomed in patches, but he ignored the bleeding. For once, he would be brave, he would make his allies proud , he would show them all the true value of the Italian army.

Germany would be so happy and Italy would prove himself worthy of being his friend.

He could no longer hear the stir of the battlefield over the sound of his own breath, which was becoming hoarse, and he could no longer see hell breaking lose around him.

Tears were making everything so blurry.

A burning tree broke and fell, barely missing him as he ran past it.

He wiped the water from his eyes with his dirty sleeve, clenched his teeth and moved on.

A plane crashed only ten yards away, but he couldn't stop to check which army it belonged to, or if the pilot was still alive and could be saved, even though he really wanted to help, he couldn't afford to do so. When the battle would be over, he'd help as much peoples as he could.

Somewhere else, something was happening, something that would drastically change all the plans that had been so meticulously made.

He didn't even feel it. Maybe was it because the feeling of uncertainty wasn't his. He was too focused on his goal, it was going further than the line of his stretched arm or the target in front of his gun. He was aiming for a promise he had made and the hope of a better future for the world.

Of course, he didn't know everything yet, he was too naive.

He still believed that peace could be gained through war, he had yet to realize the situation he had forced himself into.

He had thought they were in control, but they had been manipulated from the start.

It happened, almost in the blink of an eye, the atmosphere around him changed. It was like the branch of a clock suddenly stood still, not even for a second, then moved again but backward.

Someone yelled something. The line of soldiers who have been running before him suddenly stopped.

He didn't see it and kept running and firing at the enemies.

His men turned around in one perfect movement that would have made the German army envious.

Italy was about to encourage them into not giving up the fight. But, with the same synchronized perfection, they lifted their guns and aimed.

At him.

Veneziano stopped and looked at them, confused for a moment, but he quickly understood.

And forgave immediately.

* * *

-" Where do I have to sign?"

With a victorious smile, America pointed a dotted line on the paper. " Here"

Without any hesitation, Romano signed his name on the piece of paper that would make his alliance with the allies official.

_'I'm sorry, brother!' _He thought while adding the national stamp next to his signature on the document. '_Unlike you, I know what is good for my country and peoples, and for now on, I'll be the only one who will represent them. The decision is theirs, not mine.'_

No emotion showed on his face when he placed the pen back in his pocket, but Romano was crying inside. The decision to kill his brother was truly not his, but there was nothing else he could have done.

America opened his arms wide. " Congratulation, Italy!"

Veneziano Vargas forced a smile on his dirty features.

His peoples' will was the only thing that mattered. They were the ones that had made his existence possible.

He could only accept his_ former_ peoples' decision. If they didn't want him to exist anymore, all he could do was feeling grateful for having been given the opportunity to live such a long and wonderful life.

There was only one sound when all guns fired.

His last thought was for Germany. Veneziano prayed that his friend would make it through this war, even though he had lost an ally and gained a new foe.

TBC


	2. Disgusting white flag

**Il mio paradisio non puo esistere. ( In deine Hölle)**

**Chapter 2**

Germany lowered his weapon, carefully straightened himself, stood up and gave the scenery a long circular glance. Something was definitively not right and he tried to analyze the situation from his position at the east border of the field.

The bombing and firing has ceased on the other side. A strange, almost surreal silence had replaced the deafening sound of a battle that has still been raging five minutes ago.

He couldn't hear or see the enemy any more, could it be possible that they had withdrawn even though the advantage has been theirs?

He squinted and eventually saw something: The Italian army retreating.

'The coward!' he thought, believing that his little ally has been too frightened to keep up with the fight, once again.

Germany sighed deeply. He had been so proud of his friend five minutes ago, after he had seen him run forward, at the head of his troops and fight with courage and determination. It seemed like his goodwill had reached its limit for the time being, but it was already a great effort from Italia and if anything, he did deserve some sort of praise! If only to encourage him.

Germany would remember to congratulate him later...Then, scold him for his cowardice at the last moment.

He was pulled off of his train of thought when he realized that something else was wrong: The Italian army was retreating, yes, but they were not going back to their previous positions.

' What is this idiot doing now?' He wondered, not realizing that he was walking toward the retreating soldiers.

-" ITALIA!!!" He shouted, getting thoroughly pissed off by the lack of control he was having on the situation at hand. ' What the hell is going on?' Germany started to move a bit faster.

Some of the soldiers looked toward him and lifted their arms in an insulting gesture.

_-" Va' in inferno, Nazista di merda!" _One of them stopped to yell at him but one of his buddies urged him forward gently.

They were not retreating, they were surrending.

Germany did understand what was happening, but he couldn't comprehend it. Why would Italy suddenly abandon him like that, without even an explanation?

He tried to think of something that could have made his friend change his mind so abruptly but there was really nothing he could think of.

Italia's behavior during the precedent days hadn't been different or stranger than before.

Yesterday again, they had spent the day together. They had met for training, briefing on today's battle, they had shared thoughts but none that could have explained what was happening right then. Nothing special had happened: Italia had made some pastas for the both of them, they had had some wine and beer, played football to 'relax' a bit... The usual!

This morning again, Germany had awoken to a sleeping Italy next to him...Well,right in his arms actually. Nothing abnormal, even if Germany wasn't totally certain if it was normal or not, but it was nothing unusual anyway!

'Then, why? Why was he standing there, looking like an idiot while watching blue uniforms disappear in the distance and not even knowing what to do about the situation?

Why were the enemies not attacking any more, why that uncomfortable silence all of a sudden? Where the hell were those messengers who's job was to inform him of that kind of things beforehand???

He knew that, not far behind him, his own army had regrouped under their generals' orders. And now, all of them were standing at attention and stared both at him and at the departing Italian army with tired faces and mildly confused looks.

He turned toward them and gave them the order to hold their positions until it has been made certain that the enemy has retreated.

He looked at the field once again, not really knowing what he was searching for, but searching anyway. He needed answers and he needed them A.S.A.P.

In the distance, something vaguely different than the rest caught his attention. Feeling somehow drawn to it, Germany started to walk alone toward it, neglecting all notion of security, which was truly unlike him.

But he was too angry and confused to think about that sort of things now.

As he approached, Germany could make out the shape of the object he was targeting: It looked like a flag, but not any flag. That one was white- or so it has once been.

The flag was relatively small, looked miserable, it was torn and soiled by dirt and dried blood, just like the body it was jabbed in.

In fact, no one could have known that this thing has once been a white flag. It was not even a shadow of what it used to be. Only someone who had know it very well could have recognized it.

But, somehow, even if the poor thing was a sorry, almost disgusting sight, it still held a beauty that nothing could ever tarnish.

Italy had always liked white flags, they were a symbol of peace offering and the first step to open negotiations and find arrangements.

Germany hated white flags, he considered them as a symbol of surrender, defeat and the shame that resulted from it.

He loathed this one, miserable, white flag more than all the others, because this one was the symbol of something that was now forever lost.

Germany's mind and face were blank. He was standing still, rigid like a tree and stared at the flag jabbed to the ground inside of his ally's stomach.

He couldn't bring himself to move even a digit, he didn't even breathe, he didn't even think anything about this.

He could not accept the reality displayed before his eyes.

The seemingly distant neighing of a horse shock him awake, much out of programmed reflex, and Germany turned his head toward the noise to see his brother trot toward him, mounted on a night-black horse.

-" Oi, West!"

Prussia was dragging what looked like an Italian general by the collar. He threw him to the ground before getting down of his mount.

-" I have some not-awesome news!" Gilbert started before his eyes fell on the once-white flag. " Oh Scheiße!" He swore. He kicked his prisoner in the sides and commanded him not to move a finger before he hurried at the fallen Italian nation sides.

Italy was immobile and his clear brown eyes, beautiful even in death, were open and looking at the blue sky. He seemed serene, though his pale mouth was curved in a tiny, sad smile.

-" Italia-chan!" Prussia whispered and moved a hand to touch the pale face.

-" No, don't!" Germany almost gasped. " Don't touch him....He's...It's not real!"

Prussia looked at his brother sadly. His hand touched Italy's already stone-cold forehead and moved down to close his eyes. Germany refused to look.

Prussia briefly gave his respect to the dead nation and turned back to his captive, he kicked him once again for good measure. The man groaned and remained seated on the muddy ground.

-" We are waiting for an explanation!" Prussia shouted at him. " NOW!!!"

-" I have nothing to tell to German scums!" The general spat on Prussia's boots and was giving it back by the mean of that same boot colliding with his face.

-" Trust me, you will talk...Eventually!" Prussia sneered and looked over at his brother. " Care to help me with that, West?"

Swiftly, Germany pulled his lugger out and shot the man's right foot. Than, calmly, he lowered his gun and simply stared at the screaming general with the coldest glare his brother ever saw from him.

-" What happened?" Was the only question he asked.

-" _Non so_!" was the pained answer.

The gun shot again. This time, the bullet went through the Italian's left foot. The man howled.

-" What happened?" the same question was asked.

-" Wounded feet can heal easily, there are some other, far less awesome, places that don't leave pretty scars!" Prussia whispered to their prisoner's ear. Germany's gun picked a new target and the man gasped when he realized where exactly he was aiming.

-" Italy is no longer you Nazis filth' s ally!" He eventually spoke. " The traitors to the nation had been taken care of and us, who still hold our pride and dignity, we have taken the side of the Alliance!"

Prussia understood clearly and quickly.

" Romano! He signed an alliance with the allies! That little brat!" Prussia spat, Germany remained cold and rigid, his gun still pointed at the general.

-" Romano is not here. Who gave you the order to retreat? Is the order coming from your boss?"

-" Our ex-leader, that idiotic, _figlio di mascalzone, _Mussolini has been disposed of! The order to withdraw came directly from signore Italia!"

Prussia looked back at Italia's corpse, Germany still refused to look.

-" If he did give that order, then who did this to him?" Prussia asked, a tad confused.

-" This..." The general pointed a finger at the still form of the dead nation. " was only a traitor to the Nation who did not deserve the role he had been given. There is only one Italia and he is in Roma, planning your downfall with our new allies as we speak!" He laughed hard. " Before he ordered us to withdraw, he commanded that the traitor be executed! I am grateful for having had the occasion to get rid of that little ….!" He couldn't finish his sentence because Prussia had-once again- kicked him hard on the face with his boot.

The red-eyed nation grabbed his arm and yanked him up, not caring about the man's wounded feet, then he pushed him away and put his hand on Germany's arm to force his gun down.

-" Shut you mouth and get the hell out of our sight before we regret our decision to let you live!" He growled through clenched teeth.

The general didn't have to be asked twice and ran as fast as his damaged feet allowed him to.


End file.
